Blue, green, red and white laser beams pointing in all directions around s concert venue
I love live music. I love going to gigs, even though I don’t do it that often; it’s something I really enjoy. As a rather emo teenager, I’d queue up in the cold wearing just jeans and a t-shirt, arriving several hours early to guarantee a place at the front by the stage with only the bare minimum of possessions with me to avoid the need for a bag. I would far rather be crushed and sweaty in the mosh pit than sensibly seated or in the less crowded areas at the back.
My first and only festival experience was not something I’m keen to revisit. Between the lack of sleep, disrupted medication schedule, and discomfort of camping, day festivals and open-air gigs are more my thing with a comfortable bed to return to
The days of post-gig highs from adrenaline and lack of sleep have been replaced by planned annual leave the day after a night out to recover. I can’t stand for anywhere near the length of time a gig lasts, and the crowds bumping and pushing me not only increase my anxiety but also cause physical pain and rock my already shaky balance.
Today I’m paying for last night, although the pain and exhaustion are worth it for such a good time seeing First Aid Kit, a band that, although I haven’t been following for long, I’m now a big fan of and really love the music of. They’re also amazing live, but despite some of the perks of going to a gig as a disabled person, such as queue jumping or getting a carers ticket for free, I do wish I could still be near the front and not forced to be seated out of necessity.
Tonight* my brain is spiralling down into doom and failure. It’s convincing me that I’m a fraud just waiting to be caught out, and that I’ve convinced people into believing I’m something I’m not. People will soon realise this and see right through me, that giving me a job, responsibility and letting me run a service is a mistake.
I’ve had the talk about imposter syndrome with someone before, someone I respect, who to most people would never appear to feel this way. I even bought myself a print of the picture used in this blog to try and convince myself that, actually, I’m not the imposter I think I am.
The feelings of responsibility and expectation are once again terrifying me. For a long time, I’ve believed that if I never try, I can’t fail, and I can’t screw things up, but I’m restless, and I wasn’t feeling stretched any more by the things I was doing.
I’ve spent a large amount of this evening crying as my thoughts continue to spiral and snowball, collecting more and more until it becomes an avalanche (sorry for the naff metaphor). Anxiety has been creeping in recently, and I’m trying to tell myself that it’s normal to feel some anxiety about a new job.
It doesn’t really matter what people say because my brain won’t listen. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way, and I also know that I did well in my interview, but facts and emotions don’t mix, and the fear is strong. I wanted this job so much, and I still do, but the loss of security and increased responsibility and the worry of everything going wrong are very much on my mind (and in my dreams).
Today I have my induction with two other new members of staff, and I’m hoping that I’ll just be treated like any other member of staff and not have to hear everyone say I know everything and that I’ve been here forever, because this is still new to me and there’s a lot I’m going to have to learn.
A green background with a pink dinosaur cartoon carrying a black briefcase and a pink walking stick. The words dinos back are at the top in black
Guess who’s back? Back again, dinos back, please like and share.
So it’s been a while, I’ve had to do lots of writing for work recently, which hasn’t left me with much brain capacity to write for enjoyment, but I’m back and return with a rant.
This week is Mental Health Awareness Week, and the theme is stress, which is ironic as stress and work are the reasons I haven’t blogged recently. It often feels like a week can’t go by without there being some kind of awareness day/ week/ month. So far this year, we’ve had time to talk day, self-injury awareness day, university mental health day, eating disorders awareness week and no doubt many others.
This month is borderline personality disorder awareness month. Normally, I’d write something about these or use them as a springboard to write about a related subject, but this time I’m writing about other people’s way of promoting these awareness days.
I know that I often use these awareness days and campaigns to promote my blog, and that’s not what I have an issue with, but people using it to promote their illness or compete over who is the sickest, especially on social media.
Mental health problems and chronic illness already have so much stigma attached, and there are so many misconceptions around them. The biggest areas of stigma I’ve found are within the medical system, from doctors and medical staff. I’ve had several occasions where I’ve been poorly treated and discriminated against due to my mental health, and especially self-harm. So why, when there is already stigma attached, do people within the mental health and chronic illness “communities” claim to be “raising awareness” by glorifying their illness or posting things that just add to the misconceptions?
Posting pictures of your self-harm as part of an awareness day isn’t going to reduce stigma, posting pictures of your face scratched up or countless pictures of your starved body is shocking and attention grabbing but ultimately adds to the idea that self harm is purely graphic and bloody, that personality disorders are all about self harm or that eating disorders are about being thin and fragile.
Mental illness is complex, and it’s often not pretty. We don’t need more images of fragile, delicate white girls or bloody and bruised bodies in the name of raising awareness. If I had £1 for every time a health professional made a throwaway comment about people with personality disorders or treated someone’s self-harm in an unprofessional or even cruel way, I would be a wealthy Dino.
We need to change how we raise awareness and avoid glorifying mental health problems as a way to show the reality of living with mental health issues, because the reality isn’t just what’s visible, and just showing that side of things not only gives a very narrow view but also undermines people who don’t experience mental illness this way.
It’s a broad spectrum, and everyone is different. We all have different experiences; everyone has different symptoms and lifestyles. Mental illness is invisible. Not everyone has scars (at least not physical ones), and that should be the message we send: mental health problems aren’t uncommon, they’re increasing, and you can’t always tell just by looking at someone.
A rather appropriate Christmas card I saw last year
I don’t like Christmas, call me Scrooge or the Grinch, but I really don’t enjoy it. Christmas can be a really difficult time for so many people. There’s a big emphasis on joy and happiness, being around family and friends, but the happy family isn’t a reality for many.
My family diminished over the years, with elderly members moving into nursing homes and dying. Now I have no contact with my immediate family, though the family Christmases I did have were rarely happy ones.
My mental health tends to deteriorate around this time of year, the run-up to Christmas really makes me stressed and anxious, despite knowing rationally that the day itself will most likely be fine and that I’m actually going to spend it with two people (and two cats) that I’m choosing to be with.
One of the struggles I have with Christmas is that most of the things I do to support myself aren’t an option. I’m off work for two weeks, there’s a big reduction in public transport, so as a non-driver, I’m limited on how much I can get out. Health services are reduced, as are most other things like council services and housing association (not that my housing association is any use when they are in). It feels like the world shuts down, and the prospect of over a week with nothing to do doesn’t fill me with joy but anxiety.
I need routine and structure to stay relatively sane (emphasis on relatively), though this structure is mainly external, as left to my own devices, I tend to spend too much time in bed or watching YouTube.
The idea of days with nothing to do and falling back into bad sleep patterns reminds me of when that was all my life consisted of. Endless days of nothing stretching out ahead of me, with little point in knowing what day it was when they were all the same. I’d stay up half the night and sleep half the day (this was mainly a way of reducing the amount of time I had to spend around my mother), although however much I need routine, I’m not missing getting in at 8:30 to prepare for volunteer training.
My attempts at festivity, fairy lights wrapped around my crutches and stick
Christmas is also shortly followed by New Year, and the thought of change and reflection, I’ve been reflecting a lot recently, especially on relationships. I’m tired of missing people, especially people who don’t miss me, who made promises they didn’t mean. I don’t want to miss them anymore. In January, I’ll be once again going through medication changes in an attempt to finally get off antipsychotic medication, something I’ve been wanting for a while.
Disability, chronic illness and mental health problems don’t go away for the holidays; it just means different challenges and things that can affect pain or fatigue and trying to manage pacing while still enjoying the day.
To anyone struggling this Christmas, with isolation, pain or mental illness, you’re not alone. This dinosaur sends love and solidarity. If you need support during the Christmas period, the Samaritans are always there, and comedian Sarah Millican will once again be doing #joinin on Twitter for the 7th year running. Have as good a Christmas as you can, a big Christmas RAWR from The Perks of Being a Dinosaur.
The perks of being a dinosaur 